December 27, 2007
There are a few things in this universe that I will never understand. For example, no matter how hard I try, I will never understand physics--it's still the only "incomplete" on my college transcript, and I honestly couldn't care less. During my grad school admission interview, my department chair said, "I see you have an "I" on your undergraduate grade report. Can you please explain that to the committee?" And I was like, "Yes. It was physics. The question about the monkey swinging in the tree, trying to reach that damn banana had me in tears. So I never went back." The department chair looked at me sympathetically and said, "Ya know what? I don't think the incomplete will be a problem," and moved on to the next question.
Another mystery of the universe that I will never understand is Diet Coke. Diet Coke tastes like Windex and literally burns as it travels down the old digestive pipe. Sure, it has no calories, but neither does squirrel urine--and you won't catch me drinking that stuff either. Yes, I might have an extra sensitive swallowing pipe, but I still don't understand the craze. I'll just stick with dirty martinis, thank you very much.
And the third thing that I will never understand, is the bachelor pad. Yes, I know that most men don't like to decorate, and that's okay--but the strict minimalist lifestyle is plain old baffling. To all of the single guys who read this blog, I'd like to share a message: We live in the USA, boys. The beauty of this nation lies in the fact that we have grocery stores, we have full access to cleaning supplies, and the law allows us to own more than just a sleeping bag.
You're probably wondering why a married woman is thinking so much about bachelor pads today. Well, it's simple--I hung out with my cousin Rick yesterday. Rick is a twenty-something single attorney who recently bought his first place. For Christmas, my Aunt bought him a very lovely serving platter with the phrase "Bless this House" written across the top. When he saw that I received the exact same gift, he looked at me with wide, desperate eyes and said, "What am I supposed to do with that?!" I was like, "Damned if I know...I'm homeless. But if I had a kitchen, I'd probably display it."
A few moments later, my sister walked into the room carrying a large, black trash bag. She was like, "Here ya go," and handed the bag to Rick. He pulled out two framed pictures of lighthouses, nodded his head approvingly, and thanked my sister. He explained to me that the walls of his 1400 square foot condo are completely bare, and my sister donated the old pictures to help remediate the situation. He held one picture in each hand and said, "Wow, this is great! I didn't know you were bringing me two pictures! Now I can decorate my entire condo and my office!"
The following night, when I went to see Rick's condo in person, he was rightfully proud of the place. After all, it's huge, it has loads of closet space, and it's in a ridiculously gorgeous town. We walked though the front hall and he was like, "Well, this is it! And here's the picture!" He opened the door to his downstairs bathroom, and there is was--the lighthouse print, hanging a few inches left of center.
I complimented him on what he'd done with the place, and he went on to show me everything else. You know...the box of raisins, his towel, his roommate, fifteen white shirts, and his carpet. And I must admit...all seven of his possessions are very, very nice.